After overnight rain, it is a beautiful day so we decide to tick off one of our guide book’s ‘must see’ sights and visit Moulin Huet Bay. We drive to Jerbourg and start walking eastward so we can say we have been to the easternmost point of the island – St, Martin’s Point. Today we are better equipped for walking, although I still have the wrong glasses and the new boots are digging into my ankles, or rather one ankle, in a weird way. Easternmost point reached, we turn round and head off along the coast path in a westward direction. I was of the opinion that Moulin Huet meant windmill and Google Translate agrees (must be right then) but not a one in sight. What we do have is spectacular scenery and all the clichés about white sands and azure seas really do apply, although the photographs do not do them justice. Everything is newly washed from last night’s rain and again the butterflies are out in force. We also see birds of prey wheeling that we think are peregrine falcons.

The terrain and the many inlets make this a rather longer walk than I and my new boots had anticipated but we make it to Moulin Huet bay and stop at a very welcome café there. We scramble down the cliff path and across the rocks to the bay below. Apparently Renoir walked two miles from St Peter Port each day to paint here during his stay in 1883. Apart from a solitary swimmer, the bay is deserted and we rest on the rocks and ease our feet in the sea. In a similar way to Scotland, the weather changes quickly here and I am soon sheltering from a very short shower under my handy saved-from-the-Victoria-Falls plastic poncho. At this moment, a bride and groom are attempting to get atmospheric beach photos. The bride has taken the precaution of changing into flat shoes but she is still trying to surmount the rocks with a train and bouquet, whilst holding the wedding shoes. It is a shame that the rain, which lasted no more than five minutes, coincided with the photo call, especially as the wedding dress was silk. The rain and an incoming tide prompt us to start to retrace our steps. To the relief of my ankle, we find a short cut along the road and return to the car.

There were glimpses of fishing boats in the distance when we decided our feet needed us to turn round. This is a great temptation for a fisherman of my acquaintance and I attempt to navigate to the distant bay by road. At this point I should point out that the antiquated sat-nav we have in this car does not cover the Channel Islands so we have me instead. I was a girl guide. I am actually quite good at map reading, even though I do have the annoying habit of turning the map round the ‘right’ way. There are a couple of drawbacks. Even with the varifocals I am unable to read the map easily with my glasses on, so I take them off. This means that a) I can’t see where I am going and b) I can’t read the road signs. In addition, the most detailed map we have is forty years old and anyway I have left it in the apartment. We do make it to Saint’s Bay. It is a good job that we are used to very narrow, steep roads. There is allegedly no parking at Saint’s Bay but this is obviously to fool the tourists. There were a few local cars parked there. Obediently though, we just go down to the harbour in order to turn round. With a very quick glance at the boats, we drive back towards St Peter Port.

We stop at Sausmarez Manor and yes it really is spelt differently from where we went yesterday. The guide book tells us the manor house is open. It isn’t. The lovely wooded trail through the sculpture gardens is however. There are huge, impressive stands of bamboo and the trail reminds us of New Zealand. We are a bit ambivalent about the sculpture. Are we admitting to being Philistines when we say we don’t really ‘get’ some of it, despite it being worth, according to the catalogue, thousands of pounds a piece? Although there were some ‘organic’ (technical term alert – to try to sound like I know what I am talking about) pieces that I quite liked, in general, I preferred the pieces that actually looked like something. Randomly, one path labelled ‘Way out for Wheelchairs’ is barred by a pole stretched right across the path, some two foot six from the ground. Clearly all those pushing wheelchairs have to be limbo dancers.

Also onsite is a copper smith and we spend some time chatting about his trade. Like most people we have met, he is very friendly. He did a traditional apprenticeship in the 1970s, primarily to make traditional Guernsey cans. These originated in Normandy a thousand years ago and the cows were milked directly in to the larger sized ones. The design allows for the most efficient use of the metal, giving a maximum capacity per square foot. The shape also reduces the likelihood of loss by slopping. Sizes vary from half a pint to ten pints but the standard ‘pot’ contains four pints. The craftsman we were speaking to is now the only person on Guernsey who knows how to make these cans. He is passing the technique on to his sons. They will not be taking up the craft professionally but at least the knowledge will not die out.

There was a minor incident involving an invisible tree as we left the car park. I probably won’t get thanked for mentioning this but I wish to report that no back bumpers or trees were harmed in the process.